


'Til The Morning Comes

by Anonymous



Category: Notorious (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Series, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9350651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "I'll be there in twenty minutes," Jake promises, and some of the pressure on her chest eases.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jena Bartley (jenab)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenab/gifts).



 

"I'm fine," Julia says, over and over again. To Jake, with Raul Mora's gun trained on them. On the plane, when Louise asked her. At home. At the studio. In the office. Everyone keeps looking at her with worry and pity in their eyes, looking for reassurance, and she's eager to offer it because she wants nothing more than to put it all behind her and move on.

"I'm fine," she says, smiling a tight little smile, and it's not a lie. 

It's not quite the truth either.

*

As long as she keeps busy, she's almost able to forget the nightmare of the past few days. It feels good, immersing herself in work and losing herself in the buzz of the show – those headlines and deadlines – trying to piece together the mystery of what happened with Maya Hartman and why.

It's when she's home alone, when it gets quiet around her, that it all comes rushing back, as if the floodgates open and the tide will wash her away with it. The nights are the worst, because in her dreams she's back in that dingy little shed El Toro held her in. In her dreams, she watches Ignacio Enriquez be shot and bleed out in front of her eyes, is forced to watch as Raul puts a bullet into Jake's brain, finds Louise's lifeless, broken body in Carlos' living room. 

She wakes up bathed in sweat with a scream on her lips. Without even making a conscious decision, her hand reaches for her phone on the bedside table, pressing on Jake's number with unsteady fingers.

It's 3:48am. Jake answers on the second ring, his voice clear and steady, too awake for someone she's pulled from sleep.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and the 'yes' is almost on the tip of her tongue already. 

_I'm fine. Forget it, it's silly. Just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you. See you tomorrow, okay?_ She swallows the words. The image of Jake lying dead on dirty ground with an ugly hole between his eyes and a pool of blood steadily growing around his face is still burnt into her retinas, and she can't shake it. They once promised never to lie to each other, and she doesn't want to start now. 

"No, I—" She takes a slow, measured breath, trying to steady herself. "I dreamed about Mexico. It was bad."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Jake promises, and some of the pressure on her chest eases.

*

Jake looks as tired and haunted as she feels, but he's alive and unharmed – no gunshot wound, no blood, not a scratch on him. Rationally, she knew he was okay, but there's still a part of her that needed to actually lay eyes on him to drive the lingering images of her nightmare away.

He enfolds her in a hug before he's even properly inside, and although the cool night air clings to his clothes and seeps through the thin cotton of her pajamas, it warms her up in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. 

The familiar scent of his aftershave fills her senses and she finds herself holding on tightly, clinging to him in a way she usually doesn't allow herself to. Imagine that – Julia George, _needing_ someone. It's not who she is, not at all the image she wants to project: strong, self-sufficient, unruffled. Apparently being kidnapped by a Mexican drug lord has shaken that foundation to the core.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head. "Not now. I just— I'm more rattled than I thought."

Jake snorts. "Gee, Julia, I wonder why. You were held prisoner by the most wanted man in the world. You're allowed to be a little shaken up." But he hasn't let go of her, hands moving in steady, comforting circles over her back, the gesture belying the flippant tone of his words. The dichotomy of it makes her smile, and she breaks away, giving his arms a reassuring squeeze as she moves back.

"Have I thanked you yet? If you and Louise hadn't come to my rescue—"

Jake interrupts her mid-sentence. "Stop right there. I was always going to come and find you. When I heard that El Toro had taken you I—" He stops himself, takes a breath. "I can't lose you, you know that, right?" 

He sounds at the same time shaken and fierce, and for the first time, it hits home how much her kidnapping affected the people in her life. How that same terror that haunts her nightmares must have hit Jake full force when he heard that she had been taken.

He frowns at her. "Look, I'm not going to ask you never to do something like that again because I know you. You're always going to put a good story before your own safety. Just... the next time, don't keep it from me."

Her throat feels tight, and the guilt settles in her stomach like a stone. She nods. "I promise I will."

*

Later, curled up on her couch with her head against Jake's shoulder and an empty bottle of French Bordeaux – a gift from Darin for breaking a story that made their ratings soar last year, she can't remember which one – on the table, her eyes are feeling heavy-lidded and the conversation has ebbed away.

"You should call in sick tomorrow," Jakes suggests. 

_Tomorrow_ is not quite right. It's past five. She'll have to be in the studio in less than two hours.

Raising her head slightly to turn towards him, she shoots him a challenging look. "Will you?" 

His lips twitch. "Touché." 

He's absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair, twirling it around his finger and releasing it again while his other hand is curved around her body, holding her close. She's not even sure if he's consciously doing any of it, not in the way she's hyper-aware of his touch. Perhaps it's the buzz from the wine, or the lingering adrenaline high of almost dying – almost losing Jake – but it's different than it used to be between them. It feels different. _She_ feels different, and it's hard to tell if that tension she's suddenly noticing has always been there or if it's new.

She's the one who twists around, who closes the distance and presses her lips to his. Out of the two of them, she's always been the more impulsive one ( _reckless_ , she'd call it; _brave_ , Jake would argue). 

The kiss is tentative, uncertain, but there's heat in it that wasn't there when she brushed her mouth against his cheek before she left for Mexico, or when he kissed her palm on the plane. There's nothing platonic about it now, nothing comforting or familiar.

When they pull apart, there's a frown on Jake's face and his voice is low and rough. "What the hell are we doing?"

We. Not _you_. So it's not just her. 

She knows she owes him an answer, but she doesn't have one. The tiredness is finally taking hold of her, the tension of the past 72 hours slowly bleeding away and leaving a strange, hollow sort of exhaustion in its wake. "I don't know. Can we... figure it out later?" 

His hand is in her hair again, caressing the outline of her face, and the look he gives her grows tender. "Sure. We can do that."

They smile at each other – small smiles: weary, and a little broken, but _real_.

"We can do that," he repeats, reassurance and a promise, his lips brushing against her forehead. 

Outside, the dawn is breaking.

End.


End file.
